Jessica Year 01, Month 3

It’s one of those mornings—the kind where everything is falling apart.

The alarm clock forgot its only job and we’ve less than fifteen minutes to dress and get out the door. My daughter can’t find her school folder; I can’t find my keys. Lunch must be packed while coffee is brewed, but we’re out of sandwich-sized bags. Last week I stubbed my toe and it’s still swollen making it harder to walk. I’m stressed because I have an out of town guest coming, and I needed the morning to tidy the house. There’s nothing I can do now.

At moments like these I wonder if my purpose on earth is teach type A people patience. I’ve learned that some people either never experience this or pretend they never have.

It is one of those mornings where I am hearing the voices of those people, even though they are no longer around to speak the words for themselves.

Miraculously despite the setback, we’re ready on time—with the provision that we eat eggs at the bus stop. Outside, I discover a layer of frost covers the windshield, and I’m concerned that the delay might cause us to miss the bus. I scrape like a mad woman and climb into the car.

I turn the key. Click. Click. Click.

“Is that the car?” my daughter asks.

I don’t answer but turn the key again. Click. Click. Click.

In my mind, I see us missing the bus. I see having no way to bring my daughter to school. I see having no way of fixing my car, and I see the devastation of not having a vehicle, forgetting that God has provided free lance work for me ever since my layoff and has kept us this entire year. I wrestle with faith anew.

“Run,” I say.

“But what about my egg?”

“Bring it.”

As we run, me on my supposed-broken toe and my daughter holding her plate with her egg on it, I say, “Well, at least we’re getting our exercise today.”

And my nine-year-old daughter belly laughs. I join in.

Suddenly we find ourselves running down the road laughing. Our breath peals into frosty air and disappears beneath the red and orange canopy of leaves. And it’s all right.

For one beautiful, shining moment, the world is perfect

It’s perfect despite the clunky shoes, the car that won’t start, the hasty breakfast, the guest who will see a less than perfect house. It’s all okay, because I’m okay.

We’re allowed to be happy despite the chaos—because no one says we have to listen to the critics.

Jessica Dotta has earned the right to wear the title of: Social Media Specialist, Consultant, Publicist, Brand Manager, Editor, Writer, Social Activist, and Business Manager.
But the only titles that matter to her are: Called – Redeemed – Beloved – Known by the Father – Daughter – Accepted. . . and Mom.
Her life has recently undergone a shaking—one that uprooted nearly every trace of her former life. You’ll have forgive her unconventional posts, as she’s still trying to work out her perspective. She knows one thing though. The most humble and worthy person she ever encountered lived in near obscurity—but sent ripples of change into the world. All because he took the time to care about each hurting person he met. He wasn’t Jesus, but he followed the Great Shepherd and left a legacy.
She wants to follow that path.